


Follow me

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [10]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Blood, HUappreciationmonth, Kidnapping, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "Come and get a ticket, follow me to the creep show."J-Dog, Dead Bite.Danny has a great idea.





	Follow me

**Author's Note:**

> THE UNDEAD:  
> Matty 'Da Kurlzz' Busek (MattyKurlzz): Red mask  
> Jorel 'J-Dog' Decker (JDog_HLM): Green mask, two knives  
> Dylan 'Funny Man' Alvarez: Black mask, single knife  
> George 'Johnny 3 Tears' Ragan: Black mask, baseball bat  
> Jordon 'Charlie Scene' Terrell: White mask, sawed-off shotgun  
> Danny Murillo: Yellow mask, metal pipe
> 
> VICTIMS, 2 OF:  
> Coward: wimp, has at least one arm and one kneecap.  
> Idiot: wears shoes, shouts a lot.  
> Gender doesn't matter for either, both are referred to as they/them.  
> Both would know who Hollywood Undead are. They are written to be overbearing fans, the type who would harass the guys' partners, tag the guys in shipping stuff on Instagram, flood friends/family of the guys with spam/questions about the band.
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think the guys have done, or has any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.

The Pair hid behind the rocks, giggling to themselves. They were visiting California, and by pure luck managed to find somewhere that often cropped up in the Undead’s photos; the open space the guys would go shooting in. They took selfies and uploaded them to Instagram like it was some sort of achievement.

It hadn’t taken much to lure the Pair back out. A simple tweet to MattyKurlzz inviting him shooting ‘by the rocks’, and Matty responding with “you high? You remember you’ve got my number? Yeah I’m coming.” And JDog_HLM responding with his usual string of emojis. The Pair didn’t seem to question why Jorel would confuse twitter for messages, or the fact that Jorel’s twitter is otherwise mostly links to his Instagram, or why Matty would tweet back instead of texting like he’d suggested.

They fell silent as footsteps approached. Someone grunted. Fabric rustled. They shared a grin.

A man leapt over the rocks. He was tall, gangly, dressed in all black from his shoes to his gloves to his mask. A long knife glinted in his hand as he snarled at the Pair.

Coward dove behind Idiot. Idiot stood there, staring at the man as he waved the knife at them.

He dove for them, and Idiot ran, dragging Coward after them. They ran out from behind the rocks, a second man jumping down off the rocks to give chase. He was shorter, in a green mask, wielding a pair of smaller knives.

The Pair ran, heading for the woods. A third man, bulky with a blue mask and a wooden baseball bat, ran along the edge of the woods, missing them by several yards. He beat the other two men into the woods, but tripped on a branch, and his accomplices tripped over him, landing in a pile of grunt and swearing.

The Pair continued to run. They stopped sharp as three more men closed in on them, a red mask with a large bag on his back, a white mask with a sawed-off shotgun, and a yellow mask with thin metal pipe.

The man in the red mask screeched at them. The Pair ran off in a random direction, hands interlaced as Coward cried. The men followed, the first three catching up as fast as they’d lost them.

The Pair dived behind a tree and skidded into a ditch. The sides were steep, with piles of dirt around the side. A shovel stood in one of the piles.

Idiot jumped for the side. It was at least a foot higher than them, and they only succeeded in tearing more dirt down on top of themselves. Coward sobbed

The masked men circled the hole. Yellow mask took the shovel and threw more dirt into the hole, smacking Coward in the face and making them cry harder. Black mask and White mask pointed and laughed.

Blue mask grabbed Yellow mask’s hoodie. The men looked around and scattered like startled deer, leaving the Pair in the hole.

Coward sobbed. Idiot shushed them.

Silence for several minutes. A tree branch snapped.

“The fuck?” a familiar voice said, “What’s going on?”

“Help!” Idiot screamed, “Help, we’re down here!”

Charlie leant over the edge of the hole, jaw dropped in shock, shotgun in hands. “The fuck happened to you?”

“We were chased down here by some men in masks,” Idiot called up, “They were going to bury us!”

“They ran off when they heard you guys coming,” Coward called, “You guys are heroes!”

“Aw, shucks,” Danny said. He leant over the edge of the hole, his hair sticking up like he’d just pulled a shirt off, “We were just passing through.”

“We’re so glad you found us!” Coward said.

“Now how the hell do we get you guys out?”

“Maybe we should get a ranger,” Matty said. He had a large bag strapped to his back, and Johnny was zipping it closed. He kept trying to shove something in, but it wouldn’t fit.

“Yeah, we see those fuckers ‘round here so often,” Jorel said.

Dylan laid down and threw his hands over the edge. “C’mon, jump.”

“Dude, that’s never gonna work.”

Idiot jumped, locking hands with Dylan. Dylan pulled, Idiot kicked, and they scrabbled over the edge.

“Well, shit.”

Dylan laid back down, and Coward jumped up to him. They scrabbled, unable to get a solid footing. Johnny had to lie alongside Dylan to grab Coward’s other arm and heave them up.

Above ground, Coward dove straight for Johnny, wrapping their arms tight around him as they shook. Johnny patted them on the head.

“What do we do now?” Idiot said. They were clinging to Jorel, Jorel having surrendered his arm to them.

“I say we find a ranger,” Matty said, “Tell them about the hole and that there’s a bunch of idiots in masks running around.”

“With weapons.”

“What?”

“They had knives, and guns, and one had a bat.”

“Shit,” Charlie said. He checked his gun over, checked the bullets and pulled it

“Warning shots, Charles,” Jorel said.

“I know. Come on. Let’s find a fucking **ranger** before Curly explodes.”

“I’ve mentioned rangers twice,” Matty said.

They set off, Charlie taking the lead. Matty walked alongside Charlie, a baseball bat sticking out of the top of his bag, shoved in fast.Jorel followed, Idiot holding his hand, Danny with an arm slung around their shoulder. Coward was still clinging to Johnny’s arm, forcing him to stoop a little as they hugged his limb to his chest. Dylan brought in the rear, ushering the group along. They made their way through the woods, Idiot and Coward rambling away to the guys about music and concerts and masks.

“Kinda weird we’d be scared of some guys in masks, really,” Idiot said, gesturing to their Hollywood Undead shirt.

Danny laughed. “I guess some men in masks are scarier than others. Johnny still scares me sometimes, even without the mask.”

Coward giggled and nuzzled Johnny’s arm. Johnny sent him a pathetic ‘gr’. Danny clutched his chest in fake fear, and the Pair laughed.

They emerged from the woods into a set of warehouses. Holes glistened in the walls, litter rolled in the wind, doors lay on the floor.

“I don’t think we’re gonna find a ranger here,” Matty said.

“Shut your ass up,” Charlie said.

“What about bums?” Coward said.

Charlie waved his sawed-off at them. Matty pulled the bat out of the bag, and a pair of gloves fell out with it. Idiot grabbed them and tucked them back in with the rest of the black clothes. Something metallic rattled as they zipped the bag back up, Danny and Jorel frozen behind them.

“Where’s the rest of your guns?” Idiot asked.

“What?” Matty said.

“You were going shooting, right? Charlie’s the only one who brought a gun.”

“We hire them from a place nearby,” Johnny said, “We don’t want any trouble.”

Idiot frowned, but let Jorel lead them through the warehouses. Coward gripped Johnny’s arm tight. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around, not even squatters.

Matty stopped, and his arm shot out to grab at Charlie. Charlie shook him off with a tut.

“I just saw something,” Matty said.

“What?” Charlie said, rifle held up.

“In there.” Matty pointed to a warehouse up ahead of them.

The walls of this warehouse were patched over with random shapes of metal, the ground was swept, the doors sat open on their hinges. Light streamed from inside.

“What the fuck?” Danny whispered.

With a shove from Matty, Charlie headed for the warehouse. He crept around, skirted along the wall to the open door, and peered inside.

Charlie lowered the shotgun and stepped into the doorway. “Guys, come look at this.”

Jorel and Matty headed straight over, Idiot trailing after Jorel, hand still interlaced with his. Johnny set off, Coward trying to pull him back. Dylan gave Coward a gentle push, guiding them forwards. Danny came up next to them.

In the warehouse sat three mismatched sofas and a coffee table on a scuffed rug. A clean kitchenette took up the corner to their left, a wall-less bathroom to their right. A double bed was shoved into the back right corner, freshly made and rather inviting. A metal chair sat a few feet in from the back left corner.

Charlie passed the sofas to the bed, looking it over. Jorel and Matty headed for the chair, Idiot in tow. Dylan disappeared from behind Coward.

The metal chair was bolted to the ground with thick brackets. Leather straps were welded to the frame in several places over the arms, legs and back. A large red stain puddled around it.

“I don’t like this,” Idiot said, “I don’t think we should be here.”

“It’s fine,” Jorel said. He was stiff as a board, movements jerky and unnatural.

“It’s not fine! That looks like blood!”

“It’s cleaned up, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry? We need to call the police!”

“Don’t.”

“Fuck that, we’ve got men in masks running around with knives, and now a warehouse with a fucking torture chair covered in blood!”

“There’s no blood **on** the chair,” Matty said.

Idiot pulled their phone out of their pocket. Jorel smacked it out of their hand and kicked it away.

Idiot yelped. “The fuck would you do that for?!”

“Don’t call the police,” Jorel said. He grabbed Idiot’s other wrist and dragged them further into the corner.

The doors slammed. Coward jumped and turned as Dylan slid the internal bolt in. Danny skipped past Coward, picked up his guitar from behind one of the sofas and sat himself down, feet kicked up on the coffee table like it was his home. He strummed the guitar with an easy smile.

Matty threw a looped chain over Idiot’s head and pulled it tight. Idiot wrenched away, strangling themself. Matty clicked the padlock into the chain links and Jorel pulled away. Idiot scrabbled after him, chain cutting them short. The other end was snaked and padlocked to the pipe in the wall, a dense iron thing, unmovable.

Dylan grabbed Coward as they ran at him and the door, wrestling them away from the bolt. Johnny came in from behind, wrapped an arm around their neck and pulled them into his chest. Coward kicked out, missing Dylan wide in its wild flail. They rasped for air, Johnny stepping back and dragging them across the warehouse.

“What the **fuck** is this?!” Idiot screamed.

Johnny dumped Coward in front of the chair. He kicked them in the chest, and they fell back with a choke. Jorel and Matty grabbed them by the arms and lifted them into the chair, organising them over the frame.

“Get off!” Idiot screamed, “Let us go!”

Johnny punched Coward across the jaw, and again in the nose as their head reeled. They spat blood.

“Stop it!”

Johnny punched again, grinning. Matty straightened Coward’s head back up and stroked down their reddening cheek as they whimpered.

“Stop!”

Johnny punched again, and Coward’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed as they spluttered. It clung to their jaw, dribbling from their nose and mouth.

Charlie strolled over from the bed, rifle still held over his front. “You really need to shut the fuck up.”

“Fuck you!”

Matty dumped the bag on the floor and Johnny started rummaging through it.

“Grabbing two of you was Danny’s idea,” Charlie said, “So every time you’re difficult, we can punish your friend here. When they’re difficult, we punish you.”

Johnny pulled one of the smaller knives out of the bag. By now, Coward’s forearms were strapped to the arms of the chair and their shins to the front legs. Matty passed a length of cord over Coward’s shoulder, around the back, over their other shoulder and around again, pinning their chest to the back of the chair.

Dylan scrolled through his phone. He uploaded a picture of Jorel and Johnny ‘by the rocks’ with the caption “Quick stress relief with the guys!” He pocketed his phone again, got a beer from the fridge and cracked it.

Johnny trailed the tip of the knife over Coward’s arm and dug in. Coward screamed at the flash of pain.

Idiot pulled on their chain, whimpering. Johnny watched them, and pulled the knife away from Coward’s arm. Coward panted as blood welled from the thin cut, and pulled on the straps.

“You doing the honours?” Johnny said, passing the knife to Jorel.

Jorel took the knife and leant over Coward, half-kneeling in their lap. Matty wrapped a hand under Coward’s jaw, holding it open. He waved his other arm at Johnny, who took the hair tie from Matty’s wrist and pulled Matty’s hair back into a bunch. Jorel pressed the knife into Coward’s mouth.

“You said you weren’t gonna hurt-” Idiot screamed.

“ **Punish** ,” Charlie interrupted, “I said **punish**. We’re gonna hurt you whatever you do. Now take your clothes off.”

“What?”

“Sorry, lemme rephrase that. Take your clothes off, or I put a bullet in your friend’s kneecap. Better?”

Idiot shook as they dropped onto their backside. They leant down to pull their shoes off.

Charlie grinned. Coward screamed as the knife cut into their tongue, filling their mouth and throat with blood. They choked and gurgled on it as Jorel sliced across with practised ease.

“Anyone know where the pair of you were?” Dylan said, wandering over to Idiot, half-drunk beer hanging from his fingers.

Idiot shook their head.

Dylan ruffled their hair with a smile. “That was fucking stupid, wasn’t it?”

Coward howled as Jorel pulled their tongue out whole, writhing in his hand. He pulled himself out of Coward’s lap, and Matty gave them water and some gentle strokes to the crown. They spat the water out, soaking their lap in thinned blood.

Johnny turned Matty’s bag out, dumping black hoodies and gloves on the floor. He held the blue mask up to his face and growled. Coward sobbed at him, and Matty fed them more water.

Idiot shook, kicking its clothes away and covering themselves.

“Danny boy,” Charlie called, and Danny looked up at him, “I think this might be the best idea you’ve ever fucking had.”

“Thank you!” Danny called back with a beaming smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Endings! Are! Hard!
> 
> I know Jorel's "don't call the police" dialogue is a bit awkward, so I'm going to use the excuse that Jorel's a bad actor and just't couldn't figure out a natural reaction.  
> Johnny has permission to touch Matty's hair in this context and this context alone. If you're gonna torture a man for four months, the least you can do is give him special permission to touch your hair.  
> The whole '2 Victims' thing was Danny's idea, but he's letting the guys 'break them in'. That always involves stripping them and cutting their tongues out. If they're fighters, it also involves pulling their front teeth out and cutting off their feet. If they're runners, or seem likely to be a good runner, it also involves maiming and/or removing their lower legs. 
> 
> Go for a nice walk, that'll make you feel better.


End file.
